Language

Language, culture and globalisation

Yes we Kannada

Oct 31st 2012, 15:30by L.M.

From time to time, the monolithic voice of The Economist breaks into dialogue. Yes reader, it is true: we do not always agree with each other. This is one of those times.

A few weeks ago, S.A.P., a fellow Johnson contributor, wrote a piece titled “Kannada, threatened at home”. He makes the case that Kannada, the language of the state and people of Karnataka in southern India, “is ailing”. At the time, this Johnson was away on holiday and so suppressed his urge to respond, ordering another piña colada instead. But now, several weeks later, it is a slow day at the office and a friendly response seems necessary, if only to point out that S.A.P.’s fears are about something else entirely.

The writer asserts that “the demographic balance in Karnataka’s capital Bangalore… is rapidly changing” and that “Hindi and English are rapidly ascending as Bangalore aspires to national and international prominence.” In the absence of any accompanying data, it is hard to judge whether the ascent of these languages is truly “rapid”, and hence anomalous, or merely natural. In any case, it is the last part of that quote that is telling: Bangalore’s transformation from a sleepy town of pensioners to a global IT hub is responsible for the changes the city has seen. As this is a result of Bangalore’s ambition, as S.A.P. says, rather than external pressure (such as colonisation), then surely its residents must be prepared to forgo something—in this case homogeneity—to gain prestige and wealth.

Second, the slice of Kannada speakers in Bangalore may look relatively smaller, but only because the pie is much bigger. In 2001, Bangalore’s population was 5.1m. By 2011, it had risen to 8.5m. Since it is hard for any city, even one in as fertile a land as India, to grow by over 50% in one decade on the basis of child-bearing alone, of course much of this growth is a result of migration. And those migrants, who brought with them money and jobs (to say nothing of educations funded by other peoples’ taxes), also brought language. That would be fine, of course, except that “immigrants to the city often decline to learn Kannada,” writes the author. But why should they? To force anyone to learn a language is a bad idea—it creates resentment and divisions instead of the sought harmony.

Some readers might point out that European countries refuse entry to legal, non-European migrants who do not speak the local language. But Karnataka does not enjoy sovereignty the way Denmark or France do. The citizens of India have the right of free movement and the right to settle anywhere in the Union, regardless of ethnicity, religion or language. They remain citizens of India whether they live in Bangalore, Mumbai or Delhi. (Similarly, while Britain may deny entry to a non-English speaking Nigerian, it can do nothing about monolingual Italians.) Besides, as any number of writers have argued, restricting migration while allowing the free movement of goods and services is illogical and inefficient.

Many arguments like S.A.P.'s rely on implicit assumptions: Kannada good, Hindi bad. Bangloreans good, migrants bad. I hope that is not really what he thinks. It is not the decline of the language itself that is worrying S.A.P. but that his city’s identity is being diluted. At its heart, then, this is an argument not about language but, like so many other arguments, about globalisation.

Globalisation comes with many benefits, especially for citizens of developing countries. But it also brings upheaval, tearing apart ancient notions of who we are. This is not unique to Bangalore or to India. The same tensions are manifest in the debate about outsourcing and “American jobs”. It is the same idea that drives McDonald’s in Britain to proudly proclaim that its burgers are made with British beef. But it is futile to try to have it both ways. How can a culture allow in aspects of the world that enrich it while keeping out those it finds dangerous? China does this through censorship, but even that is a leaky fix. The Bangalores of the world have a choice: to shut out the world or to profit from new ideas. The friction between the two is natural, as is the urge to sigh wistfully for a perfect past. But that should not be at the expense of the future.